One Lesson Left
by Goldenberry
Summary: Hermione’s been assigned by Harry to spy on the Slytherin Quidditch Team for the Cup match in May. When she gets trapped in a web of variables and unkept promises, there’s only one way out.
1. Lesson One: Be Careful What You Ask For

A/N: Warning! I thought I'd take a swipe at a funny, sexy R fic, so while this doesn't have anything terribly graphic, foul language abounds, as does Draco's horniness and Hermione's confidence. Set in fifth year. In _OLL_, the Yule Ball increased Hermione's self-esteem- she's still not popular or whatever, and she's not incredibly gorgeous or anything, but she's a normal teenage girl- witch, I guess- and she wears lipstick and stuff. Some things may seem out-of-character for her, but she's loyal to her friends and grants their Christmas-present request. Plus, this is all you'll be seeing of incredibly-self-assured Hermione- just bear with me, it'll all come out in the next chapters.

Please remember that this is R for a reason (specifically, sexual innuendo and sex-_ual_ content- not actual sex-, plus language and themes). Not for innocent kiddies.

-ONE LESSON LEFT-

LESSON ONE: BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU ASK FOR

The first mistake I'd made was asking Harry what he'd like for Christmas. His eyes did this evil-glinty thing that made me step back a few feet, and then he put on a poor-little-puppy face. I rolled my eyes. "What?"

"The one thing I want most in the world, Hermione," Harry began, "is to win the Cup this year. Now that I'm the captain, I can't let it go to Slytherin!"

"What do you want me to do, impersonate Madam Hooch and call a lot of foul plays on the opposing team?"

Harry stopped. "Actually, that's not a bad idea," he remarked. "But I had something else in mind."

Which was how I ended up in the laundry room, picking blond hairs off Pansy Parkinson's towels (monogrammed with her initials- PWP) and then in the girls' bathroom I'd left so thankfully three years ago, stirring a rank, puce-colored potion in a cauldron on the dusty floor. Moaning Myrtle was regarding me appraisingly from across the room, and kept asking questions as to my motives, which I pointedly ignored.

"So where are your cute little friends?" she asked. "I've missed seeing them around." And then, with a pitiful frown, "I love company."

I continued crumbling lacewings into my lap and watched as they camouflaged themselves to match my brown skirt, short with age. The potion only had four days to go; I'd snatched a pair of Pansy's size-34 robes from the laundry, and they were neatly folded beneath the cauldron.

Before Myrtle could ask again, footsteps pounded into the bathroom and Harry burst through the door of my toilet. "The potion!"

"Yes," I said as I stood and poured the lacewings into the liquid, making it sizzle and flash bright red before settling on pale russet. "It is, indeed, a potion."

"Hermione, the Slytherins just got onto the field for their first practice of the season and _Malfoy's dad got them Firebolts!_ You have to be there!"

"The potion's not ready yet," I protested. But Harry, obstinate as usual, failed to listen, which was how I found myself under an invisible but not waterproof Cloak, in the sleetish January rain, high in the stone tiers of the Quidditch Stadium.

On their seven latest-model racing brooms, the Slytherin team were blurs of grey and green swishing across the field. Congratulatory shouts rang out every once in a while, along with jubilant, self-directed cheers when one of the keepers scored a goal. I rolled my eyes and dug in my pocket for the Omnioculars that had been safely stored in my trunk for games since the summer before last. They were ever so useful.

_Unknown Technique,_ the screen admitted in purple ink as I zoomed in on Malfoy, who was currently shooting directly downward. At the speed he was flying, he would never avoid the ground. His white-blond hair was whipped awry by the rain.

Applause went up from the Slytherin girlfriends and hangers-on sitting in the stands closest to the pitch; Malfoy was pulling into a complex spiral loop around the Snitch that seemed to be coercing it into a stream of wind down the center of his path. Finally straightening, he shot up a triumphant, pale hand and crushed its anxious wings beneath his fingers.

I hit record' on my Omnioculars and rewound the past few seconds. Harry and Ron had to see this.

"This is great, Hermione," Ron said cheerfully from behind the Omnioculars. 

"No, it's not!" I exclaimed. "That's an amazing move! How is Harry going to compete with that?"

Ron lowered the Omnioculars and handed them to Harry with a disappointed expression on his face. "Oh, ye of little faith," he admonished. "Don't you trust the best Seeker in a hundred years to beat the slimiest git this school has to offer?"

"I think Ron means that it was great you were able to catch this, Hermione," Harry offered, watching Malfoy's technique with an expression of reluctant admiration. "He's good."

"Hold on just a moment," I said. "Malfoy is not good. Ron himself just called him slimy and, come on, we've all seen how he plays in games. Perhaps he crumbles under pressure?"

Harry gave me back the Omnioculars. "That's exactly it, Hermione- you've got to find out what his weakness is. He knew- or thought- dementors had power over me in third year, and almost managed to distract me from the game. You have to help us do the same to him."

I hesitated before shrouding myself with the Cloak again and pocketing the Omnioculars ruefully. "I better be getting one hell of a Christmas present from you two."

The Slytherins were already heading for the locker room when I made it back to the Quidditch field; their girlfriends were streaming out of the stands and back toward the castle, huddled under umbrellas and scrunched together in groups. I passed them all unnoticed and slipped into the rowdy, warm light of the Slytherin changing room.

I blushed despite myself at the sight of several players- there was Blaise Zabini in all his black-haired, golden-hazel-eyed glory _removing his pants_ at the end of the bench- disrobing, but the one I, unfortunately, wanted to find was already half-wrapped in a towel and disappearing toward the showers. Malfoy's muscular but slender shoulders were glimmering with sweat and rain, and his hair had retained its windblown quality. I had to agree with Parvati and Lavender- he was definitely hotter than any of the Gryffindors. Though he was still a slimy git, he was most definitely a hot and slimy git. Not that I would- or could, with the Redheaded Ball of Jealousy around- do anything about it. Besides, Malfoy was a total jerk. Every girl he fucked either ended up in the hospital wing owling home an abortion permission slip, or in the endless queue to ask him to the Cup Celebration that was already being planned for the night following the big match this spring- either way, he never paid her any mind again. The only girl who remained on his arm permanently was Pansy Parkinson, the slender, rich, blonde, snooty pureblood collectively despised by the whole female population of Hogwarts. No matter how much Ron and Harry tried to deny it, both the future Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy had grown up quite well. 

I took a deep breath before locking myself into one of the bathroom-cubicles with mirrors on the insides of the doors and removing the Cloak and letting it pool around my feet. First came the uniform shirt, then the same lacewing-dusted brown skirt. I kept my brown knee-highs, heeled loafers, and bra and underwear on, tossed the Cloak about my body and looked in the mirror one last time. My hair, in loose, disheveled chocolate-brown curls that lacked shine, wouldn't be a problem where I was headed, but it looked decent anyway; the lipstick I'd put on after lunch was still in place, and my eyebrows were sufficiently non-bushy. "Okay, Hermione," I muttered, more to calm myself than anything else. "Remember, no endless searching for Ron-and-Harry-Christmas-presents this year."

Malfoy's silhouette was clearly outlined-his back to me- in the shower door as I neatly folded the Cloak and my uniform outside the room's arched entrance. Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply, and resolutely opened the door and stepped inside.

Malfoy didn't turn around until the cold blast of air from outside hit him, a few seconds later. He whirled to face me. "What the- Granger?"

"Shhh, shut up," I said quickly and, taking him by the shoulders, spun around so onlookers would only see his profile. Then I kissed him.

Unsurprisingly, he didn't protest, and pushed me against the back wall of the shower with tense muscles tightened by practice. It was guaranteed that one of the following thoughts was going through his head:

-Haha, I got virgin Granger! Take _that_, Weasley!

-Mudblood's a nice piece of ass. Too bad she doesn't show it off more often.

-Not necessarily my favorite person to associate with normally, but in a hot shower with next to no clothing on, I'm not complaining. 

From the way he was pressing his apparent agreement with my actions against my thigh, one of the thoughts going through his head was _not_:

-What the fuck is Gryffindor Granger doing in her underwear in the Slytherin locker room?

Which, while it didn't say much for Malfoy's ability to separate his brain from his dick, was definitely good for me. I was actually kind of enjoying myself. Keeping up the good-girl-Granger persona required most of my time and energy to be spent honing my already-razor-sharp secretarial skills, not to mention it was sexually frustrating; it was fun to drop the façade for the good of my house and two best friends.

Malfoy had shoved his tongue into my mouth some minutes ago and pulled away only for lack of breath. He stood, water raining on his white-blond hair and slicking enticingly across his well-muscled chest, for a surprised minute; his hands still pinned me against the wall. I smiled despite myself.

"You look fucking sexy, you know that, Granger?" he said finally, and I glanced down at myself- the white underwear was wet to the point of transparency, and while my knee-highs had not come unglued, my shoes were filling with water. It was surreal and terribly wonderful to break so many rules with one blow, both tangible and personal.

"Yeah, I know," I said, amazing myself with my bravado as I wrapped a shoe-capped leg around his thigh and trailed a finger up its inside. "_Fucking_ sexy."

He leaned in and melded his mouth to mine again, and I shook involuntarily as Malfoy pressed himself against the now-exposed area between my legs. I was going to lose my virginity to Draco Malfoy, muggle-hater extraordinaire, in a locker room shower stall. 

Wait a minute, this wasn't part of the plan, I thought vaguely as wet fingers worked their way across my splayed upper-leg. I was not going this far. I was not losing my virginity in a shower stall _or_ to Draco Malfoy. No fucking way. 

I disentangled myself from him and flashed him a flirty smile as I pushed the door open, then darted into the hallway, where I performed a quick Drying Charm and dressed before heading back to the Gryffindor dorm.

After all, I'd found Draco Malfoy's weakness:

Sex.

A/N: I know! It's short! But I like it, seemed like a good place to end. Ideas? Comments? Criticism? All are yours to give for the low, low, price of pushing the review button. Call now!

-_goldenberry_


	2. Lesson Two: Haste Makes Waste

A/N: Wow, what a response! Ever since I picked up _Shaelune_ again, I've been realizing I wanted to write an uninhibited, FUN H/Dr fic. I mean, it's never gonna happen in the books, so what's the point of making it true to canon? Hermione is just a cool person who's unable to express it to other people, and confidence lets her do that so I gave her some. I'm REALLY enjoying writing this story I hope y'all are enjoying reading it! Reviewer responses at the end!

On with the fic

-ONE LESSON LEFT-

LESSON TWO: HASTE MAKES WASTE UM, YEAH. RIGHT. WHATEVER.

I really, really hated Harry right now. 

The potion, if it was possible, smelled worse than the first time, and the blond hairs swimming in its gelatinous, jaundice depths didn't make it any more appealing. Moaning Myrtle was nowhere to be found; the clear, wintry moon streamed in through the skylight but didn't do much to light the dark bathroom. The cracked mirrors reflected my disgusted expression back at me, and I gazed, revolted, at the Polyjuice before holding my nose and tossing it back into my throat. 

I felt the sudden urge to vomit as my knees gave out and I knelt, holding to the cold porcelain of the sink as my skin bubbled and stretched painfully. My scalp ached as my hair sprang from curly to straight, my eyes stung as they shifted from soft brown to dark, chilled blue, and my stomach shrank and breasts grew before my eyes.

Then, in an elastic yank and spurt of warm liquid, I sat back in pain and quickly pulled up my robes, then looked down at the floor between my legs. Blood was trickling from me. I clapped a hand over my mouth. 

Apparently, Millicent Bulstrode's cat had been a virgin.

Pansy Parkinson most certainly was not.

I'd had Harry and Ron take care of the real Pansy; as far as I knew, she was currently lying unconscious in the aforementioned girls' bathroom, covered with the Cloak. With a few adjustments, I had extended the length of the potion's effectiveness to about five hours, which should serve my purposes well.

Pansy's skirt was even shorter than mine, her oxford stretched tighter over my new breasts, and the robe so small it could only be buttoned just below her push-up bra. "What a slut," I muttered, adjusting the skirt's hem and running a hand through my blonde hair. I was at the door of the Slytherin common room- what was the password?

Suddenly, the gargoyle blocking the dungeon door cracked and moved a slight inch forward before rumbling to life, stretching its stone-veined wings to their impressive, six-foot expanse. Its eyes sparked to life.

"Pansy Parkinson," it growled appraisingly, looking me up and down. "Fifth year. Sixteen years old. Mother: Patricia Parkinson. Father: Osric Parkinson. Residence: Parkinson Plantation. Favorite col.."

I wanted nothing more than to sit here for a few minutes and listen to this statue reel off all the personal facts about the girl I was pretending to be, but a part of me began to realize that Pansy wouldn't do that, and it was more important to _be_ her than to learn about her.

"Stop," I said imperiously, holding up a slim, ring-laden hand. The gargoyle sullenly bent his head in the middle of listing the names and breeds of Pansy's fish (she had several hundred, apparently, all exotic and Asian) and froze once more before sinking into the ground. Once he had vanished into the dark space below, a green-lit doorway was revealed, framed by columns boasting thin snakes twined around them.

The Slytherin Common Room had always been something of a coming attraction for me. Harry and Ron had gotten to see it while I'd been stuck in the infirmary having my bum waxed, and hadn't even bothered to take pictures or anything. So sensitive and caring, those two.

It was high and cavernous and cold, the exact opposite of the warm and comfortable peace of Gryffindor's blazing fire and cozy armchairs. A fire was lit beneath the arched mantle in one corner, but the light from the domed emerald lamps hanging on thick chains turned its flickering flames eerily green.

Draco Malfoy was leaning against that mantle, a goblet of dark liquid cradled casually between his fingers. The firelight gave his face a striking, mature shadow that sent his silver eyes into jewel-like sparkles. The three other fifth-year Slytherin boys were arranged on the three black leather sofas, with their respective girlfriends' arms entwined about them. They were all silent, except for Draco and Blaise, who were speaking so quietly I couldn't hear them.

Desdemona Moon, who was just as slutty as Pansy but less aloof, was straddling Blaise's lap; what little skirt she had on had ridden up to her hips, so that the tops of her thigh-high stockings were plainly visible. Facing her boyfriend, she had turned her head, red hair swinging onto her white shirt, so that she could hear his conversation with Draco. 

Suddenly, Blaise reached behind the couch and pulled a metallic, glittering case onto his lap. I noticed smugly that this forced Desdemona to settle for sticking one of her legs in between his and begin licking his ear. I shuddered and got closer; as Blaise opened the case, all the Slytherins leaned forward.

__

What are they, a fucking mafia?

I broke the tension quickly by inhaling deeply and walking into the group, pulling Draco upward, wrapping one high-heeled foot around his shin and placing my tongue in very close proximity to his tonsils. He kissed back, a little surprised but very willing, and even when he broke apart to return his attention to the suitcase, kept his arm wrapped around me. I had to admit that it was a nice feeling.

Desdemona cleared her throat, obviously jealous that I'd stolen her best girlfriend' title for the moment. I smirked at her and ground my hips briefly against Draco's; he ran a hand through his hair and turned back to the suitcase, which Blaise was impatiently holding halfway-open.

"As I was _saying_," the dark-haired Slytherin continued, glaring at me but also smiling amusedly, "this is the brand that He will use on the inside of our forearms."

I froze as Blaise held up a long-handled, black iron brand, with a skull-and-snake imprinted on its end. It seemed to glow green and hot, even though it was obviously cool to the touch. 

"What'd you have to do to get that, Zabini?" I jumped a little when Draco spoke, since I hadn't heard him yet.

"I just borrowed it- my father keeps it between initiations. No one has to know."

Draco's mouth set in discontent; I suddenly felt that I had gotten further into this than I had ever meant to. All I was doing was spying on the Quidditch team, not infiltrating Voldemort's ranks. This was Harry-and-Ron territory, not mine.

After the meeting, which had mostly consisted of gruesome speculation on the part of Pansy's fellow Slytherins about their initiation into the Death Eatery, as I'd taken to calling it, Draco, his arm still around me, wheeled around into a room off the main one and locked the door. It was dark, lit only by three torches on either side of it, and small; one couch was situated across from a fireplace, and a polished-wood bar extended from one wall to the other. Draco let go of me to pour himself a fresh drink, tossing the old one into the rubbish bin for the house-elves to collect.

"You were late," he said after a while, calmly.

He obviously wanted an explanation. Cleverly, I decided not to give him one. "Erm, yes, I was."

He looked at me suddenly; I averted my eyes. "Why?"

"Detention with Professor McGonagall." Truthfully, I had seen McGonagall detain Pansy, and figured it was plausible enough, as she was not the best student in the world.

Draco was silent for another long moment; deciding to rely upon Pansy's Slut-O-Matic switch, as it seemed to get her everywhere, I hopped lithely onto the top of the bar, facing Draco, and swung my legs over the side, letting one fall on either side of his hips. They shone in the torchlight; his eyes ran up them slowly, deliberately. I let my head fall backwards, and golden hair that wasn't mine spilled onto the bar.

_Great conversationalist, this one_, I thought as he smoothly unfastened Pansy's robes and they slid quietly to the ground, then quickly, deftly unbuttoned her shirt. Judging from the way he was removing it and beginning work on her skirt, I figured he generally was manly and stubborn and Pansy was generally girly and submissive. 

Before I knew it, I was wearing nothing but a very helpful bra and a pair of underwear that as far as one could see had no purpose but to look slutty; judging by the way Draco's pants were not exactly loose in the groin area, they did the job nicely. Both were made of virginal black lace.

As he carried me over to the couch and soon rid himself of his own clothes, I realized that I had discovered the way to have sex and remain a virgin. _I am a genius_, I thought happily, and kissed the hottest guy in Hogwarts back with renewed fervor. _Bye-bye, bookish, mousy Hermione. Hello, glamorous, experienced spy!_

A/N: So, you like? I hope you like as much as you liked the last chapter!

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Chase- Here you are! (I hope- less sex, more conversation eh)

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Draco's One And Only- Thanks! Um, I don't think she will Harry was the one who wanted to know, remember? All that's going to happen in the next chapter.

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A.J. Riddle- Um okay heh heh

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JaceMia- Well, she knew she'd be back to finish the job

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Freaker- Okay, I will, if you like it that much!

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Sugar- Hope I didn't let you down!

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Cessa- Yeah, Blaise has always seemed like he should be a guy to me I don't know why. But guy Blaise is just as slutty as girl Blaise, as we will be finding out soon! Thanks for the props!

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Cammy- Okay!

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Valerie- All right

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Lindsey- Um, I wasn't exactly going for cute, but thanks anyway!

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Asd- Thanks, I will!

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Zira- Heh well, it's not like Draco can't relieve himself elsewhere heh

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M- Yeah, I said it would be, thanks!

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Candice- Is that quick enough? It took me a couple days to write.

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Emma- Okay!

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Fiery Slut- Um actually, that was about it for the smutty stuff

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Caitie- Of course I'm not ending it! I love this fic!

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Kim- YES, I TOTALLY AGREE WITH YOU!

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Megan- Thanks a lot! I'm so happy to be your first review!

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Ec- Another chapter?

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SnoOza- Yeah! Thanks, I thought it would be better for displaying Hermione's POV you'll find out!

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Dracos hot- Here you are!

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RuByMoOn- Is this soon enough?

See y'all next time (no more than a week before next update; I have musical rehearsal every night, so it might be hard)!

-_goldenberry_


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